


Growing Pains

by Zoeleo



Series: Rara Avis [10]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alfred is the best, Batfamily Feels, Gen, Growing Up, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 08:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoeleo/pseuds/Zoeleo
Summary: It’s getting harder and harder to fall asleep as the years go by. And almost impossible to stay asleep for any length of time. Alfred wanders the halls of Wayne manor on a mission to find the most boring book in the library in an effort to relieve his insomnia, when he is waylaid by another member of the family who is also having a hard time falling asleep.





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> As short as this one is, this is actually one of the original story points plotted out for this verse. I've been wanting to get this one out for a long time now. Just some Alfred and Jason feels. I don't know about you but I was craving something sweet and warm this season. Much love to all my readers.
> 
> Not beta read. Will probably read over later and find lots of little typos. But if you spot em first, let me know and I'll fix them in a jiffy.

It’s getting harder and harder to fall asleep as the years go by. And almost impossible to stay asleep for any length of time. Dr. Kim assured him this is completely normal for someone his age and sent him home with an article out of a medical journal about decreasing melatonin production and increasing likelihoods of sleep apnea and restless leg syndrome. He’s told to stay away from TV and other electronics for at least an hour before bed time, and to switch out his night cap for something relaxing. 

Of course his chances for that are slim when he spends more nights than not down in the cave monitoring the bank of computers, watching his boys risk their lives. And the chamomile tea just makes him need to get up and piss an hour later. Then he needs to be up early to get Bruce and dear Jason’s breakfasts prepared and pack Jason’s lunch. So even on nights when the beginnings of arthritis isn’t gnawing at his joints and waking him up, he isn’t guaranteed to a full eight hours. He’s started supplementing with short kips during the day while Bruce is at work and Jason is at school. 

He’s not sure what woke him this time, only that staring at the ceiling for the past thirty minutes hasn’t done him any good. He sighs and slips out of bed, sliding his feet into the pair of the sheepskin house slippers he keeps at the foot of the bed. Perhaps he will kip on to the library and see if he can’t find something dull enough to put him back to sleep on the shelves. Despite the size of the Wayne library, after 35 years of service at the manor it’s getting increasingly difficult to find something he hasn’t read before (he’s developed something of a horrible addiction to home and garden magazines as a result).

The library is on the opposite end of the manor, he’ll have to traverse the whole house to get there, but a short walk would likely be good for him. He pads quietly out of his suite above the garage and down the short flight of stairs that connects him to the rest of the house, emerging next to the second linen closet of the hall all of the boys’ bedrooms lie on. He passes the empty guest room on his right, then Bruce’s childhood room, but pauses at the door between it and Dick’s. Light is spilling out from under the door of his youngest charge and he hears rustling within. Far too late for a boy who has school in just a few more hours to be up.

Alfred raps his knuckles lightly on the wood paneling of the door. The rustling comes to a sudden halt. Alfred can imagine the boy inside, frozen, eyes glued to the door, then scrambling to hide whatever adventure novel he’s reading this week under the covers and come up with a less-obvious lie to explain why he’s up so late. It’s an old game between them by now. Alfred would take more issue with it, but he knows Jason still suffers from occasional nightmares, and he doesn’t have it in him to scold the boy for escaping them in the pages of a good book. 

Except, when he opens the door it’s not to a chagrinned child biting his lip to keep from smiling in embarrassment at being caught with a hand shoved under the pillows (finger still holding his place between paragraphs). Instead, Jason just turns tired eyes up to him. He doesn’t even try to hide the book that’s resting spine up on his chest. There are purple shadows smudged beneath his eyes and his lips are a tight flat line. He kicks one leg out straight from where it’s been crooked.

“Sorry, Alfie. I know, I just… I can’t sleep,” Jason croaks and rubs an arm over his face, wincing. 

Alfred frowns and steps fully into the room. He closes the door quietly behind him and approaches the bed. Perching upon its side, he reaches out with one hand and gently lays the back of it across his young charge’s forehead. He’s a little warm but not enough to indicate any kind of a fever.

“How are you feeling? You don’t look very well,” he asks, straightforward in his concern.

When Jason had first come to the manor, he’d been ill quite frequently. Nothing too serious; colds, fevers, and one memorable bout of perotitis where the poor boy’s face had swollen terribly until he resembled a rather angry chipmunk. He and Bruce had feared the worst, worried the boy may be suffering from an immunodeficiency virus contracted before or during his time on the streets. It had been a bittersweet relief when tests concluded that his immune system had merely been weakened due to malnutrition, and that such spells should stop once he was put on a steady healthy diet. Alfred had never read so many child development journals in his life than during those first few months of Jason staying with them. 

It’s been almost a year since the last time Jason was sick, but apparently it hasn’t been enough time to soften the instinctual cold drip of dread down Alfred’s spine at the notion. 

Jason doesn’t answer and Alfred sighs. He watches the movement of the boy’s legs under the sheets like he’s trying to swim through molasses.

“You don’t have a fever,” he informs Jason bluntly, “but if you’re indeed coming down with something, now is the time to do something about it to head it off before it gets worse.”

Jason grimaces and turns his head to the side.

“I think I’m sick,” he mumbles half into a pillow, “Everything aches and I can’t sleep.”

Aches but no fever or chills? Alfred runs a single pensive finger over his moustache. He thinks of the to-do list he made yesterday for the week. Penciled in, between calling his sister and harvesting the brusselsprouts in the kitchen garden, was a reminder to purchase a new set of Gotham Academy uniforms for Jason in a size up. He’d noticed the sleeves of his school shirts and blazers weren’t quite covering the boy’s wrists anymore, and his pants rode up to show his socks with every step. 

“Where does it hurt?” 

Jason tosses his head to the other side and kicks his feet again, heels digging channels into the mattress.

“I dunno? Everywhere?” he groans pathetically.

Wayne boys and their dramatics, Alfred huffs. Many years of practice keeps him from rolling his eyes.

“Does your stomach feel unsettled? Is it your head that hurts?” he asks patiently. 

Jason shakes his head. 

“No. No—it’s—my arms are throbbing. And my legs. And… my shins hurt really bad,” Jason’s voice pitches into a whine.

Alfred shushes him and rakes a hand tenderly through his beloved child’s hair. 

“I think I know what it is,” he tells the boy sagely.

Jason opens his eyes from how they’d been clenched shut, “You do? Am I sick? Is there something wrong with me?”

“No,” he reassures him, “No, you’re not sick. You’re just a growing boy.”

Jason stares up at him, eyes wide in confusion. It’s a pity really, how uneducated the boy is in the mundane details of regular life. Most children experience growing pains between the ages of eight and twelve, not thirteen, but with the circumstances regarding Jason’s previous health, his body is no doubt going into overdrive now in a series of belated growth spurts.

“Sometimes, especially at your age, the body grows faster than you can keep up with. It can put strain on your muscles and joints. It’s called growing pains and it’s completely normal. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just one of the more unpleasant aspects of growing up unfortunately. I can’t make it go away, but I can help make you more comfortable,” Alfred promises with smile. 

He excuses himself and makes a quick descent into the Cave’s med bay and back up – he’s really getting his exercise in tonight. Arms full, he climbs the stairs and lets himself back into Jason’s room. First, he hands the boy an ibuprofen and a glass of water, then gets to work arranging heating pads on his aching limbs. 

“Now, where did you say it hurt the worst?” he asks, settling himself at the foot of the bed.

“My shins.”

Alfred nods. Here comes the harder part.

“Massaging the muscles can also help relieve the pain, if you’d like, I can help you with that,” Alfred offers, keeping his voice bland and professional.

Jason draws his bottom lip between his teeth but lets it slip back out, plump and shiny without hesitance. 

“Yes please.”

Alfred’s heart warms at the easy acceptance. He briefly wonders if Jason’s acquiescence is due more to fully acclimating into the family, or desperation from the pain he’s in. Alfred pushes that thought away. It matters not either way. He pushes his sleeves up his arms and rubs a nickel-sized dollop of lotion on his hands then smoothes them up and Jason’s leg. He runs the heel of his palms along the shin, and lets his fingers work the tense calf muscles behind. 

After a few minutes of not-uncomfortable silence, Jason clears his throat, “Thanks Alfie. I’m sorry for making you do all this. I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“Nonsense Master Jason,” Alfred is quick to reassure him, “It’s nothing I haven’t done many times already for both Masters Richard and Bruce before you. And I was already awake. In fact I was on my way to the library to try and find some distraction. I gather though, that whatever you were reading is much more interesting that what I would have found.”

His voice lilts up at the end, an unspoken question. Jason does not disappoint.

“It’s um, ah H.G. Wells. The Time Machine.”

“An excellent choice. It’s been many years since I’ve read that one. Where did you leave off?”

So Jason begins to read out loud to him. Alfred’s pride grows with every word. His young master has come so far. He’d always exhibited a voracious appetite for reading, but lack of instruction and access had stunted his ability. Now his high young voice flows strong and confidently, only stumbling over the longest and most antiquated terms. Trailing pauses and stifled yawns punctuate his progress by the time Alfred switches to his other leg. Then a few minutes later fade off completely.

Alfred glances up. Jason’s head is tilted back, mouth open comically wide, eyes closed. Careful not to disturb the sleeping child, Alfred rises up. He picks up the book from where it’s tumbled into his lap from loose fingers. He doesn’t quite resist the urge to place an affectionate peck to the boy’s forehead before he turns off the lamp and returns to his own room. Master Jason has come so far, and he has so much further yet to go. Alfred just hopes he’s here for every moment of it.


End file.
